


Everything Has Changed

by ExoticBuns



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: But like it's super old get with the program, It's so sad she tries so hard to be supportive, Lovesick Isabela, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Post-Death in the Family, Sarcastic Hawke, Spoilers, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExoticBuns/pseuds/ExoticBuns
Summary: After a sudden loss, Hawke is overcome with grief and spends most of his days at The Hanged Man. Isabela is worried about him and is the only friend of his to speak up about his behavior.





	Everything Has Changed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago and idk why but I have a sudden urge to upload stories and expand my portfolio WOO

Isabela was not pleased when she entered the Hanged Man. It was not unusual for them to get business in the middle of the day, for there were plenty of poor souls in Kirkwall seeking to drown themselves into a stupor if only to dull their pain. Isabela had become familiar with the sight of nameless faces who couldn't even sit up properly, even before evening had come to bring a swell of business to Corff. She was, however, displeased to find Hawke at one of the tables. It was barely past noon and yet there he was, swaying in place, his only anchor a mug of shitty ale.

Isabela approached him, sitting down across from him. His black hair was greasy from going unwashed far too long and his beard was unkempt in a very charmless way. He reminded her of an old geezer, actually. He didn't look up at her, his gaze remaining focused on the mug in front of him. Yes, turns out drinking your sorrows away often doesn't work. Isabela learned that a long time ago.

"Even I don't get drunk this early." Isabela started with a witty quip, possibly not the best way to begin comforting someone. Hawke still cracked a smile, though whether he was truly amused or simply trying to hide behind a smile was up in the air still. "Are you..." Isabela stopped herself before she could ask. Of course he wasn't alright. His mother had just been toyed with by a necromancer. It wasn't something that someone just abruptly moved on from.

"You don't need to worry about me." Hawke assured her, though the attempted firmness in his voice quickly faded with a drunken slur. That was so annoyingly like him, to push her away simply because he didn't want to be a burden. He was the one who helped people, wasn't he? Sooner or later he needed to realize that even heroes need help on occasion.

"I don't _need_  to, but I do anyway." Isabela replied sternly, unwilling to let him shake her off. It was pathetic to see him like this. Hawke was normally such a force of nature, like a vicious storm that knocked her sails loose. When Hawke walked into a room the only person that didn't notice was either dead or unconscious from too much ale. It was one of the things Isabela loved about him. "Aren't there people you can talk to? People much better at talking about these things than I am, I mean." She asked him, unsure if her words would help him any.

"Probably." He grunted in response before taking a swig of his ale, a few drops settling into his beard to add to his already ever present scent of alcohol. "Imagine what they'd think, though! The great Aaron Hawke reduced to a drunken fool?" He looked away with shame. "They'd think I was pathetic."

"You're _being_ pathetic, Hawke." He looked up at her in surprise, shocked that she would actually agree with his self loathing. It all came from a good place. "Which is why you need to stand up, pour that ale on someone's head, and go talk to someone." Isabela held his gaze, staring at him sternly as a mother would her misbehaving child. Hawke hesitated, looked away uncertainly, and slowly shook his head.

"Merrill kept apologizing to me." He started, seemingly changing the subject entirely. Isabela thought he had lost his mind until he continued. "She was so scared of upsetting me. Fenris and Anders haven't made the effort to even try to talk to me, and Aveline acts as if nothing has changed. I don't..." He trailed off as his voice cracked, and soon he was holding a hand against his face to stave off his tears.

Isabela leaned over the table to hold his hand in some vain attempt to comfort him. It hurt to see him cry, like a dagger in her chest that kept turning with every heartbreaking sob. His hand drifted away from the mug to hold hers in return, the smallest gesture that gave her some hope for him. She remained silent as his sobs echoed through the tavern, garnering the attention of passersby that Isabela felt the need to threaten into silence. Right now, though...right now she needed to be here. She needed to be here for Hawke to tell him that he was not alone in his grief. Even if his parents and siblings were all gone, he still had _family_. There were people that cared about him. Like Aveline.

Maker what a stupid thing for her to say.

"I...I'm sorry." Hawke whimpered as he struggled to stop his tears. Seeing him like this Isabela wanted nothing more than to go back in time just to kill that damned mage all over again. She wanted to drive her dagger into his chest, if only to make him feel something akin to this crushing feeling of seeing someone she cared about crumble under his grief.

"Don't be sorry. Andraste's tits, Hawke, you're too kind for your own good." Isabela felt a pin prick pain in her nose and she fought to hold off her own tears. She hadn't cried in Maker knows how long. She damned well wasn't about to in the middle of The Hanged Man. Hawke would almost certainly apologize again anyway. She couldn't have that.

"I'm sorry, I just..." He hesitated, as if he had noticed his mistake and was considering whether or not to correct himself. "It's hard, Bela. I'm the last of the Hawkes. I don't have anyone left and it's all my fault!" He choked back another sob and slammed a fist on the table. "First Bethany is crushed, Carver dies of blight, then my mother is part of some sick magic ritual!" He sighed heavily as he caught his breath which had been so easily lost. "Am I cursed?" He asked weakly, his hazel eyes meeting her dark brown.

"Crazy things happen to you, Hawke. I don't know if that's coincidence or bad luck." Isabela took a breath to steady herself. "But it's not your fault. That much I'm sure of." Hawke was too good. Too good to have a pirate the only one comforting him in his grief. He deserved so much more than that. _That_  she was sure of.

"I knew that Bethany stood no chance against an ogre and yet I did nothing. I knew that the Deep Roads were dangerous and yet I still took Carver with me." Hawke's jaw clenched in anger, along with his fists. "I killed both my siblings and now I've killed my own mother through my foolish inaction." Isabela remembered bitterly that he had told her about the lilies. She had cracked a joke about it, acting surprised that the old woman had a secret admirer. If only she'd known. She would have taken it more seriously. They all would have.

"Blaming yourself isn't going to bring them back, Hawke. And drowning yourself in shitty ale won't make you feel any better about that." He sighed and wiped away the rest of his tears. He grasped her hand, meeting her gaze with a soft look that terrified her.

"Won't know that until I try." He scoffed and pulled his hands away from her. Suddenly her hands felt empty, like having her daggers ripped from her grip. A fear consumed her, as though this had been her last chance. She was a thief; she knew that feeling. "I thought I lost everything, but I'm glad to know I can still count on you. I...I just need time." Isabela sighed and shook her head, disappointed with herself. From the look on his face she had been expecting him to say something a lot different, and she was angry at herself for almost expecting it.

"Of course, Hawke." She grasped his hands again before standing, reluctantly walking towards the exit. She trusted him to get better, but she knew she couldn't force him to. He needed his time to grieve and she respected him enough to give him that. She _cared_  about him enough. She glanced over her shoulder to check on him before she left The Hanged Man, an ache in her chest appearing as it dawned on her that he might never be the same.

"Just fun, Isabela." She reminded herself sternly. She had to remind herself, lest she forget. Feelings were messy and would only end in the both of them getting hurt. After all he had been through, she couldn't do that to him. If she could spare him just a small amount of pain, it was worth it.


End file.
